Parc Güell in Barcelona. Guess which is me...Before one goes on a Year Abroad (capitalisation for emphasis), one is all too aware of certain factors. It's a great time, and you will meet great people from all over the world; many of whom become friends - or even partners - for life. However, for a period of study which is so very clearly defined, the most forgettable aspect of it is its duration. It is only one year: as you live it, it seems as though it is constant, interminable, and you love every moment you live of it. Towards the end, a realisation begins to creep up on you, and the fear sets in. Afterwards, when you return to your normal, dreary, monotonous life, you remember, and only then do you truly come to terms with the fact that it was such a short amount of time. One year out of sixty, seventy or eighty.
As for the end, itself, there are a series of stages. First come the exams; then the results; then the slow, trickling process that is saying goodbye to as many of the wonderful people you've met over the course of the year as you can; next, you frantically try to do as much with whoever is left as is humanly possible; finally you realise that everyone has gone, and it's your turn to let go of the fantasy that you'd be enjoying this life forever. I'm currently passing from Stage Three to Stage Four.
I say "passing", because by the end of this weekend I will have said goodbye to most of my best friends made while here. One of them is my housemate and constant companion, Lauren. We both came from the same university in the UK, we're both Londoners; we both came to Madrid; and we both studied at the Complutense. It made sense to live together, since we already knew - and didn't dislike - each other fairly well. Such decisions often have one of two distinct results: either we would grow closer and enjoy the company, or we'd never speak to each other again. Let's just say she isn't on my Chrismas Card List. No, I was close to tears when I accompanied Lauren and her mother to the airport (I wasn't living with Celia, as well, by the way; she'd come to help her daughter pack up and go home). The best thing about our getting to know each other is that we've decided to live together next year, so in that way something of the year will stay with me.
Next goes Nicolette. Where do I begin with this girl? Born and raised in California to an Argentine father and a hispanophile native US mother, I met her in the second or third class of one of the most disappointing subjects I have ever had the misfortune to study, with the only academic I would happily say I hate. luckily for both Nicolette and myself, we found each other. We even lived on the same street. What the hell am I going to do without her? I've pretty much spent all my time with Nico: we studied together in four classes over the year, we went out together, we went on trips together, we ate, drank and on several occasions slept together (in the non-sex way, of course). Through her I met a whole host of American students, all of whom I loved in equal measure: Ariel, Meghan, Natalie, Victor, Blake, Gittel, Bryce, and an innumerable amount of others. Just names to my readers, but all with some very smile-inducing mental images in my head. All have already gone or will soon leave.
Another person I'll miss is Marco. We met in the Hispanoamerican Theatre class, in the second semester, before lunch. It became our little tradition to spend lunch breaks talking about travel, films, history, culture and Silvio Berlusconi. I'd often pop round to his place for a movie and a meal. Right before he left, he even took the time to give me a present from home.
Those are only the other foreign students. There are the multitude of Spanish friends I've made, either through Spanish friends I already had, met in class, or even friends of both. Luckily, they are all still in the country, but with vacations come periodical disapearances. At least they'll have the courtesy to come back to me.
Thank goodness for the French, eh? Now, there's a phrase I never thought I'd say. With my change of scenery comes new housemates. Four French boys and girls, who are staying over Summer, like my good self, and who share my obsession with the theatre and literature. Small though they may be in number, they will at least help extend the pretense that I'll never leave Madrid.
I suppose I'm saying all of this because of the aforementioned dawning realisation of the end being nigh. I know I've written about all of this before, and you're probably bored of the repetition. Well, tough. Now comes the time to write about my memories - both sweet and sour - of this most enjoyable of years, because the truth is that I need to hold on to what I have had, and to what little is left. I have plans for my future, but no one knows how one's life will end, and so the past can often be a good marker for the present and the future, or it can be a place of comfort.
Reflections will be exactly that. A month-by-month look back at this crazy, fun, exciting, pedagogical and bittersweet experience we in the business call The Year Abroad. So, to Lauren, Nicolette, The Americans, Marco, The Spaniards, The French and all the rest, thanks for the memories.
As for the end, itself, there are a series of stages. First come the exams; then the results; then the slow, trickling process that is saying goodbye to as many of the wonderful people you've met over the course of the year as you can; next, you frantically try to do as much with whoever is left as is humanly possible; finally you realise that everyone has gone, and it's your turn to let go of the fantasy that you'd be enjoying this life forever. I'm currently passing from Stage Three to Stage Four.
I say "passing", because by the end of this weekend I will have said goodbye to most of my best friends made while here. One of them is my housemate and constant companion, Lauren. We both came from the same university in the UK, we're both Londoners; we both came to Madrid; and we both studied at the Complutense. It made sense to live together, since we already knew - and didn't dislike - each other fairly well. Such decisions often have one of two distinct results: either we would grow closer and enjoy the company, or we'd never speak to each other again. Let's just say she isn't on my Chrismas Card List. No, I was close to tears when I accompanied Lauren and her mother to the airport (I wasn't living with Celia, as well, by the way; she'd come to help her daughter pack up and go home). The best thing about our getting to know each other is that we've decided to live together next year, so in that way something of the year will stay with me.
Next goes Nicolette. Where do I begin with this girl? Born and raised in California to an Argentine father and a hispanophile native US mother, I met her in the second or third class of one of the most disappointing subjects I have ever had the misfortune to study, with the only academic I would happily say I hate. luckily for both Nicolette and myself, we found each other. We even lived on the same street. What the hell am I going to do without her? I've pretty much spent all my time with Nico: we studied together in four classes over the year, we went out together, we went on trips together, we ate, drank and on several occasions slept together (in the non-sex way, of course). Through her I met a whole host of American students, all of whom I loved in equal measure: Ariel, Meghan, Natalie, Victor, Blake, Gittel, Bryce, and an innumerable amount of others. Just names to my readers, but all with some very smile-inducing mental images in my head. All have already gone or will soon leave.Another person I'll miss is Marco. We met in the Hispanoamerican Theatre class, in the second semester, before lunch. It became our little tradition to spend lunch breaks talking about travel, films, history, culture and Silvio Berlusconi. I'd often pop round to his place for a movie and a meal. Right before he left, he even took the time to give me a present from home.
Those are only the other foreign students. There are the multitude of Spanish friends I've made, either through Spanish friends I already had, met in class, or even friends of both. Luckily, they are all still in the country, but with vacations come periodical disapearances. At least they'll have the courtesy to come back to me.Thank goodness for the French, eh? Now, there's a phrase I never thought I'd say. With my change of scenery comes new housemates. Four French boys and girls, who are staying over Summer, like my good self, and who share my obsession with the theatre and literature. Small though they may be in number, they will at least help extend the pretense that I'll never leave Madrid.
I suppose I'm saying all of this because of the aforementioned dawning realisation of the end being nigh. I know I've written about all of this before, and you're probably bored of the repetition. Well, tough. Now comes the time to write about my memories - both sweet and sour - of this most enjoyable of years, because the truth is that I need to hold on to what I have had, and to what little is left. I have plans for my future, but no one knows how one's life will end, and so the past can often be a good marker for the present and the future, or it can be a place of comfort.
Reflections will be exactly that. A month-by-month look back at this crazy, fun, exciting, pedagogical and bittersweet experience we in the business call The Year Abroad. So, to Lauren, Nicolette, The Americans, Marco, The Spaniards, The French and all the rest, thanks for the memories.
Goodbye To All That
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